


Sea Tea and Cigarettes

by lambkind



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Child Loss, Depression, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gang Violence, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Japes, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Smoking, Soul Sex, Writing FAST and BAD, monster racism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-10-27 23:26:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10818966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambkind/pseuds/lambkind
Summary: Sometimes when you're in trouble help comes from unexpected places.Updates sporadically.





	1. Trash Zone

**Author's Note:**

> **A few content warnings** : vomit, some unsanitary stuff, casual alcohol use.
> 
> More self-indulgent trash. Constructive crit welcome.
> 
> Thank you [Godith](https://alphagodith.tumblr.com/) for beta reading!! (ʃƪ ˘ ³˘)

The night was moonless and cold, and the alleyway smelled like metal and garbage. You pulled your sweater more tightly around your shoulders as you walked. The piece of paper in your hand was crumpled and smudged from your grasping fingers, but you could still read the address. And the name: Dr. Alphys. This had to be the right place, but you hadn’t found the right door yet.

Up ahead you could see two men standing next to a set of metal trash cans. Two  _ human _ men. One of them was extremely muscular, with a thick black mustache. The other held a lit cigar which dripped hot ash onto the asphalt. You saw them glance your way as you approached. Though this neighborhood was heavily populated by monsters, humans lived around here too, so their presence didn’t surprise you. But it did frighten you.

That’s when you saw the green, unmarked door set into the brick wall of the next building—right across from the two men. Your nervousness doubled, and cold sweat began to collect in your armpits and on the palms of your hands. That had to be a coincidence, right? You slipped the piece of paper into your back pocket and forced yourself to keep walking, trying not to arouse suspicion. It was probably just a drug deal. But you’d been instructed not to open the door in front of anyone else. And you could see the outline of a handgun under the cigar man’s t-shirt, tucked into the waistband of his jeans. What if this was some turf war thing? Or worse, what if they were plain-clothes cops and this was some kind of stakeout? The thing you were trying to do was pretty illegal.

If you just kept walking and exited the alley on the other side, maybe you could come back in an hour and try again. But what if they were there all night? You didn’t have enough time to outwait them. Should you try the door anyway? You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t afford to mess this up.

“Where ya goin, sweetheart?”

You ignored the catcall and kept walking, praying that they would just let you pass. But you didn’t get far before a rough hand grabbed your arm and jerked you around to face its owner. It was the cigar man.

“I  _ said _ ,” he hissed, “where ya goin?”

What were you going to say? What did he  _ want _ ? As you struggled for words you felt something brush up against your back. It was the muscular man—he’d snuck up behind you while you were distracted. You tried to jerk away but his thick arms snapped closed around you, pinning you against his chest. You aimed a kick at Cigar Man’s groin but he grabbed you by the knee before the blow could connect. He leaned in close, and reached between you and Muscle Man, sliding his hand along the seat of your jeans. He pulled the crumpled slip of paper out of your back pocket and glanced over it.

“Dr.  Alphys…” he said slowly, still holding onto your knee while you struggled against Muscle Man’s grip. You were uncomfortably aware of his hot breath on the back of your neck.

“Where’d you get this address?” asked the cigar man. There was no way you could tell him that. But you couldn’t think of a convincing lie either. You kept your mouth shut.

He put his hand against your cheek and ran his thumb along the yellowing bruise just under your eye. It was a gentle, intimate touch that made your skin crawl with revulsion.

“Where’d you get the shiner, sweetheart?” he asked. When you didn’t respond he grabbed your face, grip cruel, and growled, “You sure don’t like answering questions, do you?”

Without warning he slammed his fist into your stomach. You barely made a sound, just a loud wheeze as all of the air was knocked out of you, the pain of the blow seeping in slowly. Cigar Man leaned in close to your ear and whispered, “Tell your boyfriend to hit lower next time. Easier to hide the bruises.”

Your upper arms were pinned against Muscle Man’s chest, but your forearms were free, and Cigar Man grabbed one of them with both hands. He twisted it painfully in his grip, and said, “If you don’t tell me who gave you that name and address, I’m gonna break your arm.”

A tiny whimper escaped you before you could choke it back. You couldn’t tell him. So he was going to break your arm. It was that simple.

“You can cry,” he said, almost gently, and you realize that tears and snot were running down your face. “Just don’t scream.”

A metallic clang rang out from nearby, followed by a low “whoops,” and all three of your heads jerked toward the sound.

There was a skeleton standing a few feet down the alley, next to another cluster of trash cans. A skeleton, wearing a blue hoodie and basketball shorts. Its hood was pulled up, casting most of its face in shadow, and if the men holding you weren’t staring too you might have thought it was Death standing there, waiting for the two of them to finish you off.

“pretty crappy date spot, dontcha think?” it said, in a low, masculine voice. It could talk. That’s when you realized that it—he—was just a monster. It should have been obvious but you weren’t really thinking clearly at the moment.

“guess trash can be kinda cool,” he continued, nudging a fallen trash can lid with his sneaker. It made a rusty scraping sound as it slid against the asphalt. He spoke in a pleasant, conversational tone that was completely inappropriate for the situation at hand. Ok. So if he was just a regular monster, and not the personification of death itself, what was he  _ doing _ here? He wasn’t trying to come to your rescue, was he? Everyone knew that monsters were weaker than humans. The skeleton looked stocky, but small and slouched; maybe your height or shorter. They would kill him.

Cigar Man pulled the gun from the waistband of his jeans and pointed it directly at the skeleton. He smirked, and said, “You think you’re funny, bone boy?”

The skeleton smirked back. Somehow the bones of his face were extremely malleable. Small, blue-white lights shone out of the black pits of his eye sockets. They flickered back and forth between the two men, like eyes, and you realized that was probably exactly what they were.

“oh y’know,” the skeleton said. “i think i’m pretty humerus.” He paused, as if for effect, and when no one responded he sighed. “not in the mood, huh? ok.”

He took a step forward, and the cigar man thumbed off the safety on the gun.

“Look buddy, this ain’t none of your business, alright? So fuck off.”

The skeleton didn’t come any closer, but he didn’t fuck off either. He shifted stances, feet spread wider apart, weight balanced; standing his ground. He was going to fight. They really were going to kill him.

Muscle Man spoke suddenly, for the first time that night. “Hey, don’t let him try any s—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence because you jerked your head backwards as hard as you could, slamming it into his face. He squealed, and horribly, you felt hot blood splash onto the back of your neck. He let go of you to clamp his hands over his nose, and you stumbled to the floor.

“Alright bitch,” growled the cigar man, and he swung the gun around to face you. “You first.”

For a split second, you stared into the mouth of the gun and prayed you were dreaming. Then a streak of white smashed into the gun, causing it to fly out of the man’s hand and skitter away across the asphalt. The white object spun in the air for one second, then vanished, but not before you saw what it was: a pearly white bone.

“Fuck!” yelled the cigar man. He pulled a knife out of somewhere on his person and charged toward the skeleton. Meanwhile something was happening to Muscles. He was still clutching his face, with blood dripping from between his fingers, but he seemed to be losing his balance too. Without warning he tipped over and crashed heavily into the ground, as if he’d been dropped from high up instead of just falling over.

Cigar Man swung his blade in a tight arc, but the skeleton skipped out of the way. He was faster than he looked. He ducked under blow after blow, making it look effortless. Sometimes a long bone would spin into existence just in time to block the knife. More bones lanced up from the ground, whole arrays of them, turning the alleyway into a maze for his opponent. Cigar Man was quick on his feet too, but he couldn’t dodge them all, and he yelped when one of the bones collided with his shin.

_ Physically _ weak. Monsters were  _ physically _ weak. But you forgot to account for magic.

Muscles was lumbering to his feet, sweating, grunting; it looked like a tremendous effort. Something was wrong with him. He turned towards you with a murderous expression. You spared one more glance toward the others—the cigar man was splayed out on the ground at the skeleton’s feet—then turned and scrambled toward the gun. You could see it resting in the shadows several feet from you. But you didn’t make it more than a few inches before Muscle Man was on top of you. His foot came down on your leg with unbelievable force; it felt more like he’d dropped a bowling ball on you than like he’d stepped on you. You heard your femur snap before you felt the searing pain of the break shoot through you, up into your groin and stomach and all the way down through your toes. You wanted to howl in agony, but all that came out of you was a hoarse squeak.

It took all of your willpower to roll onto your back, leg screaming in protest, to face your assailant. You had no idea what you were going to do, how you could possibly fight him off. Then another bone flew through the air and went right through his head, literally puncturing his skull and lodging itself in place, gleaming with blood where the jagged, broken end jutted out on the other side. Blood splattered across the asphalt. It was a strangely intimate moment. You saw up close the look on the man’s face as he died almost instantly.

You realized that he was still falling toward you, unnaturally fast, and when he landed, if it was anything like his foot on your leg you would be crushed. But then he decelerated suddenly, rapidly, impossibly. For a second he actually seemed to be jerked sharply away from you, arms bouncing in their sockets, feet lifting off the ground, until he came to a stop floating in the air above you. Then he just hung there, looming over you like a gory parade float. The bone through his skull had disappeared. Blood oozed out of the holes on either side of his head, and out of one nostril. Each red droplet was momentarily caught in the same magic that held him aloft, drifting lazily away from his head in tiny spheres before suddenly dropping onto your shirt.

It was a few moments before you could tear your eyes away. When you finally did, you raised your head to look for the others. Cigar Man was still splayed out on the ground, unmoving. The skeleton was standing with his hand outstretched towards you and the floating corpse. He was panting, heavy breaths visible in the cold night air, and the light in his left eye socket was huge and blazing.


	2. Gravity

You tried to take stock of the situation. You’d just watched a skeleton kill a man in a dark alley. Probably two men, judging by the unnatural stillness of the cigar man. The skeleton had also saved your life two or three times over the course of the encounter. Your leg was broken. You still needed to see Dr. Alphys.

One of the corpses was literally floating over you.

All of your intuitive physics knowledge told you that this was not possible; begged you to get out of the way before it fell like any real two-hundred pound object should. You looked over to make sure the skeleton still had a handle on whatever magic was allowing this, but he wasn’t even paying attention anymore. He was turned away and talking on a cell phone, with his hood pushed back and his skull gleaming in the dim yellow light of the lamp above the green door.

“gonna need a clean-up crew,” he was saying. He glanced over in your direction, eyes following the trail of blood left by Muscle Man. “nah, i got em both. just, uh… it got kinda bloody.”

You heard an angry female voice from the other end of the line, and strained your ears to hear what she was saying. But as intrigued as you were by this conversation, you had more pressing matters to attend to. Moving as carefully as possible, you tried to drag yourself out from under the floating body. Pain shot through your leg, stunning you, and you barely bit back the scream that tried to claw its way out of your throat.

The skeleton noticed you struggling and wandered over. Putting a hand on Muscle Man’s leg, he pushed the body away from you, over toward the prone form of Cigar Man. The body floated through the air with almost no resistance, like it was a pool toy floating on the surface of the water.

“they were pickin on some kid when i got here,” said the skeleton. When the body was next to Cigar Man he stepped away, and it dropped suddenly out of the air, hitting the asphalt with a thud. “no. a human.”

You clearly heard the person on the phone shout, “Sans, what the fuck!” He rolled his eyes. The lights in his sockets had returned to their original size, but his breathing was still ragged, and a bead of moisture—presumably sweat—rolled down the side of his skull. He wiped at it with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“yeah, they’re still here. ...no, i dunno, they were just roughin em up.” His gaze turned to meet yours, and you watched each other while he listened to the voice on the phone. Then he saw the crumpled piece of paper with Alphys’s address, resting on the floor where the cigar man had dropped it. He stared at it for several seconds.

“hey, i’ll call ya back, boss,” he said suddenly, and hung up the phone. He picked up the paper, stared at it some more, then shuffled over to squat down beside you.

You were afraid. You didn’t know what was going on, but clearly he was not just some passerby who’d come to your rescue. It sounded like he’d meant to kill those men from the start, and suddenly you were wondering if he was going to kill you too.

But when he spoke, his voice was not unkind. “uh. sorry about your leg. kinda my fault.” He held out the piece of paper between two of his jointed white fingers. “this yours?”

The last two guys had tried to beat the shit out of you for having that paper. You weren't sure you wanted to own up to it now. You shook your head slowly, eyes never leaving his face. It was not a convincing lie, but maybe he would just think you were in shock. Maybe he would leave and then you could crawl over to the door. The thought of moving your leg made you nauseous, but what else were you going to do?

He considered you for several moments, then gave a weighty sigh, and reached a hand out toward you. He paused when you flinched away from him, but eventually his hand found your shoulder, and he gently but firmly pushed you all the way back down to the ground. The pressure of his hand was irresistible. Your body felt too heavy, slow, until you didn’t even have the energy to lift your head anymore. The pain in your leg intensified. This was what he did to Muscles. He was doing it to you now. You fought back a wave of panic.

“i gotta do somethin real quick,” said the skeleton. “and, uh, i can’t let you leave yet. sorry.”

Long bones appeared in the air above you, blue and semi-translucent. They looked more like holograms than physical matter, different from the bones you saw before. They hung vertically in the air, pointed at your body. No… They were going  _ through _ your body, straight through your limbs and your chest and stomach. He was killing you after all. Struggling seemed useless but in your panic you tried it anyway. You failed; your body was too heavy to move. You felt his hand tighten on your shoulder as you waited for the pain to come. But nothing happened.

“sorry,” he said again. “they won’t hurt ya if you don’t move.” He heaved himself to his feet, then looked down at you. “i’ll be back in a sec. so just, uh… y’know. take a breather.” His skeletal grin seemed to grow a littler wider, more of a real smile than a rictus, at odds with the wide-eyed look of panic you were giving him.

Then he turned and walked back toward the men. The bodies. He grabbed each one by the arm and all three of them vanished into thin air. Just like that; gone in an instant. Stunned, you wondered if you were hallucinating this whole thing, or dreaming. It just wasn’t possible. But it wasn’t any less possible than a full grown human floating in the air like a balloon. Were all monsters like this? You hadn’t met many in person. Mostly you saw them from afar or on TV. Was this how magic was supposed to work? Not light and whimsical like in a fairy tale, but frank and disorienting? Something that killed men in dark alleyways?

You thought that if the skeleton really meant to kill you, he would have done so already. Unless he was planning to come back and interrogate you first. But if he really meant you harm, would he have gone through all that trouble to save your life? And it clearly  _ had _ been trouble. It had sounded like his boss was chewing him out over the blood he spilled keeping Muscle Man off of you. And, you supposed, over the blood  _ you _ spilled trying to fight him off. You could almost smell the man’s blood on your t-shirt and the back of your neck. You forced yourself not to think about it. If you threw up in this position you would probably choke on it.

The blue bones were still jutting out of your body, but the crushing weight had dissipated. One of the bones passed directly through the palm of your left hand. You carefully wiggled your fingers. So far so good. Then, experimentally, you attempted to lift your hand. Pain shot through it, through your fingers and halfway up your arm, like your flesh was being pierced through with a hundred tiny needles. You shrieked, and the heaving motion of your chest caused more pain to blossom across your whole torso. That shut you up. You clamped your mouth shut, fighting to control your breathing as you started to weep silently. You were surprised you could breathe at all without pain. It looked like the bones went straight through your lungs, your stomach. How were your organs still functioning without setting your insides on fire?

What if he didn’t come back, and you had to lie here like this all night?

As hard as you tried to keep calm, you were starting to hyperventilate when the skeleton finally reappeared. He was just there, suddenly, shuffling towards you like he’d never been gone.

“ok, sorry bout that,” he said, and the bones flickered out of existence. As soon it was safe to move you pressed your hands over your face and shrieked.

“Fuck!!” you said, as loudly as you could. All of your fear had turned to rage. This whole experience had been horrible, and being pinned and helpless like that felt like the worst part so far.

“so you  _ can _ talk,” said the skeleton, and incredibly, he was laughing. He squatted down beside you, and in a more sober voice, he said, “guess you tried movin, huh.”

“Fffuck you!” you snarled. Somehow your vocabulary had been reduced to expletives. You couldn’t believe how horribly awry everything had gone tonight.

“sorry about the magic,” he said, and to his credit he sounded like he meant it. “it’s kind of a weird situation.”

You didn't respond, and when he reached a hand towards you, you jerked away from him. The movement caused the pain in your leg to become so intense that you leaned to the side and threw up all over the asphalt. It was almost a relief—the physical violence of the act consumed all of your attention, and for a minute you didn’t have to think about everything else you’d just seen and felt. It occurred to you that you were probably in shock, and that you were just taking out your distress on the only person who’d hurt you that was still alive.

Once you’d caught your breath, you wearily laid back down, heedless of the snot and drool smeared across your mouth. Wasn’t any worse than the blood on your neck.

“I’m sorry,” you said, staring up into the black sky. Your voice sounded raspy and hollow. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“hey don’t mention it, kid,” said the skeleton. He was sitting next to you now, with his legs bent and his elbows resting on his knees. “thanks for helping me with the hit.” When you turned toward him, uncomprehending, he grinned at you. The way his face moved was fascinating. The rictus grin of exposed teeth seemed to be a permanent fixture, but sometimes the corners of his mouth would lift up a little bit, crinkling up the corners of his eye sockets, and shifting his expression into something that seemed more like a genuine smile.

“you clocked the big guy pretty good,” he said, and there was amusement in his voice. “you sure you needed my help?”

You just stared at him, shocked that he was trying to joke around about this, but too weary to feel outraged.

“too soon?” he asked, cocking his head a little to one side.

“My leg is broken,” you said flatly. You realized it sounded like an accusation, but you hadn’t meant it that way. You just felt like you needed to say it out loud, so somebody else could confirm that this was actually happening.

“i can’t take you to the hospital with this guy’s blood on you,” he said softly. He hesitated, then continued. “best thing i can do is take you back to my place and set it myself.”

“No,” you said immediately.

“i know it sounds nuts.” He looked away, and ran his fingers slowly over the top of his skull in an absent-minded gesture. “...i can’t let you go until i find out where you got that address.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, and took a huge, shuddering breath. You could not… You  _ would _ not leave this alleyway without seeing Dr. Alphys. And you had no idea who this guy was. But he was a monster, and Alphys was a monster, and those other guys had been human. If they were hanging out back here up to no good, and the skeleton fought with them, maybe that made him one of the good guys? The enemy of my enemy is my friend. And he  _ had _ saved your life, even if it was just because you’d happened to be there.

You threw caution to the wind. “My dad needs a heart transplant.” The skeleton went still, listening, bright eyes trained on your face. “I got the address from… someone I know. A human. But he’s married to a monster.”

“...you can get hearts at hospitals,” said the skeleton in a quiet voice.

“They’ve already given him three,” you said. “He’s an opioid addict. They won’t let him have another transplant. And he needs one  _ now _ , or he’ll…” Your voice turned thick as you begin to cry again. It wasn’t just because you were hurt and afraid, either. Somehow it was a relief just to tell someone your story, even a complete stranger.

The skeleton watched you intently, head lowered, no longer joking around. He didn’t try to touch you again, either. Carefully, he asked, “he doesn’t mind if it’s not from a body?”

“Supposed to be cheaper this way,” you said simply. And privately, you thought it sounded more ethical; at least as far as black market organs went. Who knew where those trafficker guys got their stock.

The skeleton considered you in silence for several moments. You realized that you had no idea what time it was, which was a disorienting sensation. The sky was still the same shade of slaty black, at least.

“If you don’t believe me, I—”

“she ain’t here, anyway,” he said, cutting you off. “alphys, i mean.”

You turned your head to stare at him. That couldn’t be true. It  _ couldn’t _ .

“yep,” he said, seeing the denial in your expression. “doc’s out.”

“For how long?” you asked, in a slow, rusty voice that didn’t sound like your own.

“not too long,” he said cryptically. Not giving anything away. He leaned in a little closer. “look. if you come back with me and let me fix you up, i’ll take you to ‘er as soon as she gets back. deal?”

You watched each other silently as you considered his offer. Was he lying? Did he think you were? You had no idea if you could trust this person. You didn’t even know his name. But he  _ had _ saved your life, and that had to count for something. And you were starting to feel like you were in over your head.

“Let me try the door first,” you said.

The tension drained from between you and his posture relaxed as he realized you were relenting.

“you sure you wanna put that leg to the test?”

“...Make me float.”

He gave a huff of laughter. “y’know it’s not as easy as it looks.” You just gave him another long, reproachful look, until he gave in. “ok ok, fair’s fair.”

Gingerly you raised yourself into a sort of sitting position, and when he reached for you, you didn’t flinch this time. Crouched down beside you, he put his head under your arm and his arm around your waist. The protrusions along the vertebrae of his neck poked you in the shoulder and armpit, but you barely felt it. It wasn’t until he pulled you to your feet that you noticed something was different. You were able to stand with no real effort from either of you, easily balancing what remained of your weight on your good leg.

Your stomach rolled uncomfortably. The closest thing you could compare it to was walking through water, though there was no drag. You hopped along easily with the skeleton helping you keep your balance, slow but effortless, each movement carrying you so much farther than normal. You weren’t  _ floating _ —not like the body of the thug had—but you had become almost weightless, like gravity’s effect on you had weakened. Your leg still hurt, but the pain had diminished into a persistent dull ache as the broken limb drifted unjostled beneath you.

“If you let go would I float away?” you whispered, overcome by wonder.

“you’d drift back down eventually,” said the skeleton. You glanced nervously at his face, but it was hard to tell whether he was just messing with you or not.

You knocked loudly on the unmarked door. You’d been given no other instruction. The seconds stretched into minutes as you waited for something to happen. When nothing did, you felt hopelessness settle into your chest, the real weight of your body replaced by a heavy sort of anguish. You stubbornly knocked one more time, even though you knew by now that no one was coming. Either they weren’t there, or they wouldn’t answer because you weren’t alone. You tried the handle. Locked.

“Ok,” you said, in a small, defeated voice.

“...ready?” asked the skeleton.

You nodded.

“we’re uh… we’re gonna take a little shortcut.”

“Like when you took the bodies?” Where had he taken them, you wondered, but without much real curiosity. You felt yourself grow heavier, and more of your weight settled onto him as you leaned away from your broken leg. His arm tightened around your waist. At least you wouldn’t have to walk.

“yep.”


	3. Bones

You blinked, and the alley was gone. Somehow you were somewhere else, landing with both feet on a carpeted floor. You only had a moment to consider how miraculous this was before the pain of the impact registered in your leg. You sucked in a sharp breath, and then the skeleton clamped a hand over your mouth, so that your scream was muffled by your closed lips.

" _sorry_ , sorry sorry," he was saying, hurriedly shifting your weight off your leg and back onto his shoulders. "don't wanna freak out the neighbors. or uh… hey… bro."

"SANS, WHAT ON EARTH?" said a loud, nasally voice. You looked up to find its owner: another skeleton, much taller than the one with his arm around your waist. He was standing in the doorway of what appeared to be the kitchen, holding a laundry basket full of bed sheets and dish towels, wearing little black jogging shorts and a crop top that said "READY" in block letters. His outfit revealed everything. You could see his waspish spinal column and the prominent arches of his hip bones, and the bare, clawlike bones of his feet; long, spindly limbs and sharp-angled joints and a few naked ribs peeking out from beneath his t-shirt. There was really nothing holding him together. Just a skeleton.

"WHO IS THIS HUMAN?" he continued. "IS THAT  _ BLOOD _ , WHAT'S GOING ON??"

"she's hurt," said the shorter skeleton. "leg's broken." He nodded toward the laundry basket. "got a sheet in there?"

"YES, YOURS, AND THEY'RE FILTHY," complained the taller skeleton, pulling the basket closer against his body.

"c'mon dude, it's an emergency."

The taller skeleton sighed extravagantly. "I SUPPOSE…" He pulled a bed sheet out of the basket and spread it over a nearby couch, and the shorter skeleton helped you hobble up to it and lie down. It was a painful process, but you'd experienced enough pain over the past hour or so that it was starting to feel commonplace.

Once you were settled with your legs spread out across the couch, the taller skeleton shoved his hand into the space in front of your face. His fingers were covered by a bulky red glove.

"IT'S A PLEASURE TO MEET YOU, HUMAN!" he crowed. "ALTHOUGH I WISH IT WAS UNDER BETTER CIRCUMSTANCES. MY NAME IS PAPYRUS."

Bemused, you place your hand in his and he shook it vigorously.

"NOW I DON'T MEAN TO MAKE YOU RELIVE ANY UNPLEASANT MEMORIES," he said, adopting an air of concern, "BUT WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR LEG? AND WHAT'S ALL THIS BLOOD, ARE YOU BLEEDING?"

"oh," said the shorter skeleton, as if he'd just remembered something. He raised his hand to you in a curt wave. "i'm sans, by the way."

"SANS!" cried Papyrus, sounding aghast. His eye sockets pinched down at the top edges, giving him an angry, brows-furrowed look. "YOU'RE JUST  _ NOW _ INTRODUCING YOURSELF??"

Sans shrugged, and fixed Papyrus with a wry look. "we were kinda busy."

"HUMAN, PLEASE." Papyrus placed his large, gloved hand on your shoulder. "ALLOW ME TO APOLOGIZE ON MY BROTHER'S BEHALF. HE'S COMPLETELY UNCIVILIZED, BUT HE MEANS WELL. SOMETIMES."

"yeah, sometimes," said Sans, and he winked at you, shutting one eye socket completely. You stared at him, feeling unnerved, and vaguely threatened. Maybe you were reading into it too much; or maybe he was referencing the fact that he'd just killed two people right in front of you. It had not escaped your notice that he'd sidestepped his brother's attempts to find out what had happened.

"NOW," said Papyrus, "LET'S HAVE A LOOK AT THAT LEG, SHALL WE? THE PANTS WILL HAVE TO COME OFF, OF COURSE." And to your horror, he reached for the zipper of your jeans.

"Hey!" you snapped, and smacked his hand reflexively.

He drew back immediately, and, eye-sockets wide, he said, "HUMAN, I'M SO SORRY, I DON'T KNOW WHAT CAME OVER ME! YOU'RE PERFECTLY CAPABLE OF REMOVING YOUR OWN CLOTHING. UNLESS… YOUR ARMS AREN'T BROKEN TOO, ARE THEY?" He clapped his hands to the side of his face. "OH MY GOD, HOW MANY BONES DID YOU BREAK?"

"relax pap, it's just the leg." Sans was smiling broadly; he seemed to be enjoying his brother's antics. Then his eyes flickered back to you, and less sure, he said, "it  _ is _ just the leg, right?"

You nodded, slowly.

"WELL THEN, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR, HUMAN?"

The skeletons watched you closely; Papyrus with an air of expectation, and Sans with a huge Cheshire-cat grin. Papyrus didn't seem to understand your hesitation about undressing in front of them, but Sans clearly did, and he clearly found the situation amusing. You gave him a sour look, and his grin grew even wider.

"they gotta come off if we're gonna set the break. or we can cut em off, if you think it'll hurt too much." When you just glowered at him, he said, in a softer tone. "hey look, we don't wanna hurt you, ok?"

You didn't really think they wanted to hurt you. It was just embarrassing to undress in front of these complete strangers, no matter what the circumstances.

Moving as carefully as possible, you unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them off, hissing as you shoved them past the break in your femur. Papyrus's hands fluttered uselessly over you before one settled on your shoulder. Your suffering seemed to upset him, which was sort of touching. Once your jeans were past your thighs you allowed him to grab them by the legs and pull them all the way off.

As they slipped past your feet, your phone slipped out of your back pocket and fell onto the carpet. Holy shit. This situation was so insane that you'd almost forgotten how you'd gotten in it.

"I need to make a phone call," you blurted out. The skeletons seemed surprised to hear you speak.

"can't it wait?" asked Sans.

"No," you said immediately.

He gave a small sigh, scratching the back of his skull. "can you do it from the couch?"

"…Yeah."

Papyrus was already bending to retrieve your phone from the floor. You hastily averted your eyes when this action gave you a direct view into the bowl of his pelvis, through the top of his shorts. There was nothing  _ in  _ there, but… still.

"HERE YOU ARE, HUMAN."

The battery was dead. You looked back up at them, and in a much quieter voice, asked, "You don't have an iPhone charger, do you?"

Sans shrugged. "'fraid not."

After a long, long pause, you asked, "…Can I borrow a phone?"

"the faster we splint that thing the better…" Sans said, but Papyrus was already handing you his cellphone and showing you how to dial a number. It was a strange phone. It had a chunky frame and a little antenna like it was ten years old, but it also had a touchscreen and the operating system looked sophisticated.

You called home first, staring down into your lap, uncomfortable under the stares of the skeletons and increasingly anxious as the phone rang and rang.

"be right back," said Sans, and disappeared. …You weren't used to that yet. The ringing faded into the background as you stared into the empty space where a person had been standing just a moment before. Papyrus stared into the empty space too, and made a gruff, disapproving sound. Then you heard a voice on the phone—it was your own voice, saying to please leave a message after the beep. You couldn't believe you'd ever sounded that happy.

Your dad never picked up his cellphone under the best of circumstances, but you tried the number anyway. No luck. You called your aunt's cellphone next. She didn't pick up either. Where the hell  _ was _ everyone? You left a hurried message, asking her to call you back at… When you hesitated, Papyrus recited his phone number for you, which you repeated into the phone. You gave him a grateful look, and he smiled back; the hard planes of his face were malleable like his brother's.

Sans reappeared while you were leaving the message, carrying a wooden kitchen chair under one arm and several small items under the other. He placed the chair next to the couch, by your broken leg, and sat down next to you.

Those were the only phone numbers you had memorized. You squeezed your eyes shut, and took a moment to feel scared and helpless and frustrated. Then you opened your eyes and handed the phone back to Papyrus.

"…Thank you," you murmured.

"IT WAS NO TROUBLE, HUMAN." He gave you a sympathetic smile and patted your shoulder.

"here," said Sans, handing you a brown bottle. It was Jack Daniels. You rolled your eyes but did not refuse, which made him laugh. Liquid swished around inside the bottle—half empty. Your eyes flickered over Papyrus's exposed spine, and the empty space where his stomach should have been. How could they even drink this?

You sniffed the mouth of the bottle, wondering if you should be worried that they'd drugged it; wondering again about the motivations of the shorter skeleton. Oh well. You were far enough down the rabbit hole as it was at this point. You took a long swig, then let your head fall back against the armrest; then jerked back up again as you felt hard, alien fingers on your thigh.

" _easy_ , easy," said Sans. His hands were on your leg, probing around the break. His fingers were _warm_ , to your surprise, but after a moment's thought, you realized that part of your mind had registered that fact before, when he'd covered your mouth to keep you from screaming.

"don't worry," he said, grinning, "i do this all the time. 'cept there's usually less skin and stuff."

"SANS, DON'T SCARE THEM!" complained Papyrus. Then he turned to you, and in softer tones, he said, "DON'T WORRY HUMAN, HE DOES THIS ALL THE TIME. …EXCEPT THERE'S USUALLY LESS… SKIN AND STUFF…" He turned back to his back to his brother with a frown and demanded, "WAIT, WERE YOU JOKING OR NOT?"

"comedy 101, pap. the best jokes are true." He handed you a brown leather belt, and said, "if it hurts too much, bite this."

"Oh god…" you sighed, which made Sans chuckle and Papyrus put his hand back on your shoulder. You were strangely comforted by his hand. Even though he was a complete stranger, his concern for you seemed genuine.

You didn't need to bite the belt. The worst of the pain was passed, though another wave of nausea rolled through you when you thought you could feel the jagged edges of your broken femur fit together like puzzle pieces inside your leg. Papyrus's hand remained on your shoulder through the duration of the… procedure. Neither skeleton showed any signs of embarrassment over the fact that you were in your underwear, and they both stared without shame at your bare legs as Sans maneuvered the bone back into place. You concentrated on this observation to distract yourself from the pain. You knew monsters wore clothes. The skeletons themselves were clothed, though Papyrus's outfit didn't leave much to the imagination. But they  _ were _ … skeletons. Was it possible that your nudity was meaningless to them as long as your bones were still covered? Thank god the break hadn't been  _ that _ bad; for your sake as well as theirs.

You and Papyrus let out a collective breath as Sans laid a wooden spoon against your thigh and began to tape it in place. What you needed was a _cast_ , not a splint, but Sans had already made it clear that he wasn't going to take you to the hospital yet, and when it came down to it, you weren't too keen yourself on having to explain your current state to a nurse.

"how much sea tea we got left?" asked Sans.

"HMMM…" Papyrus stroked his lower jaw bone as he considered the question. "ENOUGH FOR A CUP, I THINK… I'LL GO HEAT SOME UP!"

He strode out of the room, through the doorway to the kitchen. You heard the squeak of cupboards opening and closing, and the click-click-click of a gas-powered stove being lit. Slowly, your eyes turned back to Sans, but he was still looking down at your leg, concentrating on the splint. He did, in fact, seem to know what he was doing, which was comforting.

Papyrus suddenly yelped from the other room, and Sans's fingers tensed against your leg. But he laughed when the yelp was followed by a metallic clang, and improbably, barking. A little white dog bolted out of the kitchen, carrying a red oven mitt in its mouth. It scrambled up a long staircase and disappeared onto the second-floor landing.

"INFERNAL MUTT!" shouted Papyrus, bursting through the doorway. "WHY HAVEN'T THE HUMANS INVENTED DOG REPELLENT YET??"

"because humans love dogs," said Sans, chuckling. "remember?"

"THAT'S TRUE…" hummed Papyrus, looking contemplative. "IF HUMANS LOVE DOGS, AND DOGS LOVE SKELETONS…" He brightened suddenly, and punched his fist into the palm of his other hand. "THEN HUMANS MUST LOVE SKELETONS! I KNEW IT!"

He knelt down next to the couch and bent his head toward you, so that you were facing the smooth crown of his skull. "IT'S ALRIGHT IF YOU WANT TO PET ME, HUMAN, I DON'T MIND."

You stared at the top of his head. Then you turned to his brother and stared at him, hoping for some kind of guidance. Sans just stared back, eye sockets wide and pulled up at the top as if he were raising his eyebrows.

"IT'S FINE, DON'T BE SHY," said Papyrus, and he sounded so cheerful and eager that you caved in. You reached out a hand and hesitantly stroked the top of his skull. Sans clapped a hand over his mouth and turned away, shaking with silent laughter as you pet his brother like a dog. You ignored him, concentrating instead on the smooth, pleasant texture beneath your hand. The bone was surprisingly warm, like Sans's fingers had been, warm and dry like sunbaked stone.

After a minute or two Papyrus ducked out from under your hand and stood. "I HOPE THAT WILL SUFFICE FOR NOW," he said, sounding satisfied. "I HAVE TO GO CHECK ON THE TEA!" He bounded back into the kitchen, and you stared after him, mystified. Was this… normal with monsters?

"sorry about my brother," said Sans. He was still snickering. "he can take some getting used to."

"…Actually I kinda like him," you admitted. He was certainly eccentric, but something about his frank enthusiasm and concern put you at ease. Sans was practically beaming at you. Apparently you'd said the magic words.

Papyrus returned with a cup of steaming hot… something, which he handed to you.

"THERE YOU ARE, HUMAN!" he said, beaming down at you. "FRESH FROM THE MARSH, AND EXPERTLY WARMED BY YOUR NEW FRIEND AND HOST, MASTER CHEF PAPYRUS."

"it's magic," said Sans; he was required by law to tell you that. "but it'll make you feel better."

You stared uneasily into the cloudy, blue-green brew. It was glowing. Tiny soft lights seemed to be floating around inside, casting a diffuse luminescence throughout the brackish liquid. The steam that drifted out of the cup smelled briny.

You fixed Sans with a frown of distaste, which made him laugh. "just drink it."

You cast a glance at Papyrus next. He gave you an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up.

Welp. You took a sip. It scalded your tongue and the roof of your mouth, but the taste was not unpleasant. It was salty and a little bit savory, something reminiscent of broth and seaweed. And it did make you feel better, almost immediately. You hadn't realized how cold you were until the warmth of the tea filled your throat and seeped down into your body. And you were probably imagining this part, but the pain in your leg already felt a little more distant and bearable.

You took several more careful sips while the skeletons watched you. Papyrus was smiling benevolently; Sans seemed to be frowning, though the expression was mostly in his eyes. He rose abruptly from his chair.

"i'm gonna go make a pie," he said, and walked off. It was such a non-sequitur that you were sure you must have misheard him. Papyrus immediately took the vacated seat and leaned in close to you.

"SO WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR LEG, HUMAN? IT WASN'T MY BROTHER'S FAULT, WAS IT?"

Oh god damnit. What were you going to tell him? Not everything, that was for sure. You couldn't imagine telling  _ anyone _ that you'd just watched their brother murder two people in cold blood, let alone… your new friend and host, Master Chef Papyrus. Or fuck, maybe  _ he'd _ killed people too, for all you knew. But you couldn't shake the feeling that Sans had deliberately steered the conversation away from his brother's previous questions. And now he'd left you to explain things on your own. Thanks for nothing, asshole.

"ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" asked Papyrus, when you didn't respond. "YOU CAN TELL ME IF IT HURTS, WE'RE EXPERTS ON BONES, YOU KNOW."

You bit back a hysterical laugh. You weren't sure if that was supposed to be a joke or not.

"I'm fine," you said quickly, as he started to reach toward your leg. "Some guys were… harassing me. One of them broke my leg. But Sans was… around and he… helped me fight them off." God you hoped that was enough information. Did you sound as uncomfortable as you felt?

"DID HE NOW? WELL I… I'M VERY GLAD HE WAS THERE TO HELP YOU." He didn't look glad. He looked worried. You really hoped you'd said the right thing.

Sans poked his head in through the doorway. "pap, didja have to put the sugar up on the high shelf again?"

"SANS!" shouted Papyrus, standing and moving toward the kitchen. "I HEARD YOU RESCUED OUR GUEST FROM SOME VILLAINS EARLIER THIS EVENING, AND WHILE I'M VERY PROUD OF YOU AND I'M SURE YOU LOOKED VERY COOL WHILE YOU WERE PLAYING THE HERO, I REALLY WISH YOU WOULD CALL ME FIRST BEFORE GETTING INTO SCRAPES. YOU KNOW YOU CAN'T—"

As he entered the kitchen he shut the door behind him, cutting off the rest of his words. He seemed to have lowered his voice as well; the muffled scolding that came from behind the door was unintelligible to you.

You stared around the suddenly quiet room, finishing your strange tea, and marveling at the events of the night. The tone of the evening had shifted so much after meeting Papyrus that the scene in the alleyway felt mercifully unreal in your memory; like maybe it had actually happened to someone else, though the evidence to the contrary was distributed throughout your body, in the blood smeared across your shirt and the ache in your leg, and the pain in your stomach where Cigar Man had punched you. You wondered where Sans had taken the bodies. You wondered if there was another monster in the alley now, cleaning Muscle Man's blood off the asphalt. You wondered what those men would have done to you if Sans hadn't appeared in the nick of time.

The door to the kitchen opened and Papyrus came back, carrying a blanket.

"HERE," he said, and spread the blanket over your legs and torso. "I'M SURE YOUR DELICATE HUMAN SKIN MUST BE CHILLED WITHOUT YOUR FULL SET OF CLOTHING."

You had to bite back another laugh. He just sounded so ridiculous, and you couldn't tell how serious he was being. After tucking you in and handing you the remote for the TV across the room, he picked up the laundry basket from where he'd left it on the floor.

"NOW, I HAVE TO GET ALL THIS IN THE WASH— OH, I HOPE IT'S ALRIGHT IF I WASH YOUR PANTS AS WELL."

You nodded.

"GOOD! DON'T WORRY, I'LL BE GENTLE WITH THEM. ANYWAY, MY BROTHER AND I WILL BE IN THE NEXT ROOM SO PLEASE CALL OUT IF YOU NEED ANYTHING. ANYTHING AT ALL! AS OUR GUEST, YOUR COMFORT IS OF THE UTMOST IMPORTANCE TO US!"

He gave you an incredibly patronizing pat on the head, then strode off toward the kitchen with the basket full of laundry.

Wow.

Watching TV was the last thing you felt like doing, so for several minutes you just stared up at the ceiling. But you kept seeing the dead, staring eyes of the corpse floating over you. And you kept hearing the click of the gun as the safety came off. You turned the TV on. It was set to Food Network. Perfect. At some point in the middle of a Chopped rerun you fell asleep.


	4. Pie

You woke up in the dark feeling ravenous, desperately needing to pee, and with no idea where you were. You rubbed your eyes and blinked around the dark room. The TV was off, but you remembered that it was on when you fell asleep. You remembered everything else backwards from there. The tea, the skeletons. The men in the alleyway. You hadn’t been able to reach Dr. Alphys. And your leg was broken. You could feel the splint taped awkwardly to your thigh under the blanket. Judging by the quiet and the dark, you didn’t think you’d slept for very long. It was probably around two or three in the morning.

You reached your arms back over your head in an attempt to stretch your stiff shoulders and almost knocked over a lamp on the side table. There were several smaller items on the table as well: a piece of pie, two hand-written notes, a glass of water. A walkie talkie.

A pair of bent old crutches was leaning against the couch next to your feet. Bless these skeletons. You snatched them up and carefully lifted yourself onto your good leg, with the padded tops of the crutches jammed into your armpits. You didn’t know exactly where the bathroom was, but a door near the staircase looked like a promising candidate. Slowly, trying not to bump into anything in the dark, you hobbled over to the dark doorway and felt around for the light switch. Success. It was, in fact, the bathroom.

You carefully maneuvered yourself onto the toilet; luckily your pants were already off, so that was one less thing to deal with. Your tender, splinted leg rested at an odd angle as you did your business. Too late you realized there was no toilet paper. Not even an empty cardboard roll. Not even a box of tissues on the sink. Sighing to yourself, you did an awkward little shimmy over the bowl of the toilet, trying to shake off any excess moisture before sliding your underwear back on. At least there was soap; you washed your hands with undue relish. You thought about trying to wash off some of the dried blood, but you felt a little too tired and miserable to put in the effort. Instead you just hobbled back to the couch and got back under the blanket, dropping the crutches unceremoniously on the floor next to you.

The smell of the pie reminded you how hungry you were. You carefully picked up the pie, the fork, and the note that was slipped under the plate.

It said, “more magic food. eat up.” And then, as if an afterthought, “there’s more on the stove if you want.”

So Sans had actually made a pie. It was pretty ugly. The crust was burnt, and it was sort of smooshed-looking at the top. It tasted delicious though, some kind of doughy mixture with butterscotch and cinnamon. While you ate you read the other note.

“DEAR HUMAN,

“PLEASE HELP YOURSELF TO AS MUCH PIE AS YOU WANT. IT MIGHT NOT LOOK LIKE MUCH, BUT IT WILL SURELY SPEED YOUR RECOVERY. THE RECIPE HAS BEEN IN THE ROYAL FAMILY FOR AGES!

“I WOULD HAVE GIVEN YOU MY CELLPHONE NUMBER IF YOUR OWN PHONE WASN’T DEAD. (MY CONDOLENCES.) SO INSTEAD I’VE LEFT YOU THIS HAND RADIO. I’VE GOT THE OTHER ONE UPSTAIRS WITH ME, SO IF YOU NEED ANYTHING AT ALL, CALL ME ON THE RADIO AND I’LL BE BY YOUR SIDE FASTER THAN YOU CAN SAY ‘ABSQUATULATE.’ (TRY SAYING IT OUT LOUD. IT’S VERY FUN TO SAY.)

“FORGIVE ME FOR BEING A LITTLE FORWARD, BUT FROM WHAT I’VE OBSERVED THIS EVENING, I BELIEVE YOU MAY BE A GOOD INFLUENCE ON MY BROTHER. IT’S BEEN YEARS SINCE I’VE SEEN HIM COOK ANYTHING! (MICROWAVABLE FOOD DOESN’T COUNT AND IT NEVER WILL.) SO, THOUGH OF COURSE I WISH YOU A SPEEDY RECOVERY, I HOPE YOU WON’T FEEL THE NEED TO RUSH OFF AS SOON AS YOUR LEG IS HEALED. I HAD FUN TONIGHT! LET THIS BE THE START OF A BEAUTIFUL MONSTER-HUMAN FRIENDSHIP!

“NYEHFULLY YOURS,

“THE GREAT PAPYRUS”

This fucking fool. You didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or cry.  _ “I had fun tonight!”  _ Well at least someone did. You set your empty pie plate aside and picked up the walkie talkie, but you didn’t call him. You didn’t want to wake him up, and actually, your needs were pretty well met at this point. Toilet paper would have been nice, but you’d roughed it before. The only thing that was really on your mind was calling around to find out how and where your dad was, and without your phone there wasn’t much you could do right now; except maybe stick near Sans, who had promised to bring you to Alphys. Unless he’d lied.

You fell back asleep wondering if he’d lied.


	5. Bathroom Break

You woke up with full daylight streaming in through the window over the couch. The memories of the night before came back more quickly this time. There was a new note from Papyrus and a stack of books on the little side table.

“TREASURED GUEST,

“HOPEFULLY YOUR SLEEP WAS RESTFUL AND FILLED WITH PLEASANT DREAMS. I SEE THAT YOU ATE THE PIE. GOOD! YOU SHOULD HAVE MY BROTHER TAKE A LOOK AT YOUR LEG WHEN YOU WAKE UP. MAYBE IT’S BETTER!

“I HAD TO GO TO WORK SO I LEFT THE WALKIE TALKIE WITH HIM. HOPEFULLY HIS NEWFOUND SENSE OF HELPFULNESS SURVIVED THE NIGHT. DON’T LET HIM WEASEL OUT OF TAKING CARE OF YOU!

“I’LL BE BACK IN THE EVENING, SO UNTIL THEN, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO OCCUPY YOURSELF WITH THE TV OR ANY OF THE BOOKS I LEFT FOR YOU.

“YOUR EXCELLENT FRIEND AND HOST,

“PAPYRUS”

He’d left you a strange assortment of books, including a Dan Brown novel, a Merriam-Webster dictionary, a picture book about a rabbit, and several aged volumes in an unfamiliar language. Not important right now. You thought over what you needed to do: You needed to figure out where your dad was, and what his current condition was. That might involve looking up the phone numbers for local hospitals and calling around, so you would need at least a phone. You also needed to call Paul and ask about the situation with Alphys, so you needed  _ your _ phone. You needed a charger. You needed to go to the hospital to get your leg x-rayed and stuck in a cast. You needed to pee and you didn’t want to go without toilet paper again.

It was a long list… You felt like a jackass using the walkie talkie, but it was probably better than hobbling around the house trying to find Sans yourself.

Feeling foolish, you held the button on the side of the device and said, “Um, anyone there?”

A minute went by with no response. Well, this was stupid. You wondered if he even—

He appeared suddenly next to the couch, making you gasp with surprise.

“afternoon,” he said, grinning. “your leg better yet?”

You let out a long, thin breath as you recovered from your shock and processed what he’d said. Was your leg better yet… Smartass. Wait.

“Wh—” Your voice came out scratchy and small, and you cleared it before trying again. “What time is it?”

Sans shrugged. “two somethin?”

Holy shit. Then you must have slept for over ten hours.

He tossed a small white box into your lap. It was an unopened iPhone charger, still covered in shrink wrap.

“that’s for givin my brother just the cliff notes on last night.”

So he  _ had _ wanted to hide what happened from Papyrus. That seemed fair. You knew your dad kept some of the dirtier shit he did a secret, even from you. You stared at the skeleton for several seconds, and he stared back, small pinpoints of light unwavering in their dark sockets.

Indelicately, you asked, “Do you have any toilet paper?”

He paused as he processed the question, then chuckled and scratched the back of his head. “sorry, forgot about that. tissues ok?”

You nodded, and he disappeared, only to reappear a second later holding a box of tissues. You stared with wide eyes. You couldn’t help it. Teleporting like that, like it was nothing, it was… well, it was like magic.

He seemed to read the awe and curiosity on your face, and his grin grew wider. “neat trick, huh?”

You said nothing. If you were being honest, he scared you a little; you couldn’t tell whether his friendliness was genuine or not. Vividly you recalled the feeling of being pinned to the asphalt like a bug under glass, with the electric magic of the bones through your body playing along your nerves. You found yourself wishing that his brother was here, though for all your knew Papyrus was just as dangerous.

Wordlessly, you pushed the blanket aside and reached for the crutches. Still in your underwear, in front of a complete stranger… You felt your cheeks flush from embarrassment, but you tried to play it cool. Once again Sans seemed indifferent to the sight of your underwear; he didn’t even try to look away. His gaze settled on your splinted thigh, watching how you moved with a clinical, considering expression. Maybe they didn’t even have genitals, you thought as you hoisted yourself onto the crutches. They were just skeletons, as far as you could tell. That might explain their apparent lack of modesty, if they had nothing to cover up.

“hey,” said Sans, breaking you out of your reverie. “y’know i wasn’t jokin about your leg being better. try puttin a little weight on it.”

You gave him your best are-you-fucking-serious expression. Did he think you were a glutton for punishment?

“i’m serious,” he said, laughing at your reaction. “you know magic food can heal you, right? that pie was some pretty heavy stuff, bone’s probably all fused up by now. ‘specially after all that sleep.”

You  _ had _ heard that magic food could heal people, but you’d thought it was in the same way that  _ crystals _ could heal people, and that stars could tell the future. But now, considering everything you’d seen last night, why couldn’t it be true? The monsters were real.  _ Magic _ was real. You just hadn’t thought until now about what effect that might have on a human. Still, it took months for a broken bone to heal. The idea that you could eat some pie and be magically all better the next morning was just too good to be true.

“what’s more unbelievable,” he asked, seeing the conflict play out across your face. “healing a bone overnight or gettin teleported?”

“The bone,” you said stubbornly. Years of science fiction had prepared you for teleportation, and you just weren’t as eager to accept  _ healing _ spells as a new part of your reality. And yet… it didn’t have to be illogical, did it? Surely there was a scientific explanation for accelerated bone growth. You chewed your bottom lip. He’d changed the way gravity affected you on command. He’d made bones appear out of thin air. He was still staring at you, smirking, waiting to see what you’d do.

Fine. Glaring at him, you threw down the crutches, momentarily balanced on one foot, and then slowly lowered yourself onto the other one; waiting for the pain to come. Nothing. Your frown gradually melted into an expression of wonder as you sank onto your broken leg and felt no pain. In fact, you didn’t remember feeling any pain since you woke up. The leg  _ felt _ stable. Was it just an illusion? Maybe the magic in the food had only  _ numbed _ the pain, and if that was true, limping around on it was only going to do more damage. You poked some exposed skin over your knee. Then you pinched yourself. You could still feel that.

In utter shock you sat back down on the couch and tore off the bandages that held the splint to your thigh. Gritting your teeth, but determined to investigate, you tried to bend your thigh at the middle, where you thought the break had been. Didn’t hurt; felt solid. Impossible.

“Impossible,” you said flatly, looking wide-eyed at Sans. He was beaming at you; a genuinely pleased expression this time, instead of a snarky one.

“ok, this time, ya gotta admit that’s cool.”

You got back up and walked around, hesitantly at first, then with more confidence as your leg continued to behave. God, if this was for real… You probably still needed an x-ray. But you hadn’t realized how much you’d been  _ dreading _ the next several months in a cast.

“Thank you…” you said, turning back to Sans, and the frank gratitude and relief in your voice seemed to embarrass him. At least something finally had. He ducked his head a little, glancing away.

“hey, it’s just a piece of pie. ‘sides, like i said, it was kinda my fault.”

It was definitely  _ not _ just a piece of pie. You’d heard a lot of rumors about monster cuisine: miracle cure; addictive; unsafe for human consumption. You’d been so ready to accept the bad things and dismiss the good. But to heal a broken femur in under twelve hours…

“y’haven’t been around monsters much, huh?” asked Sans, handing you the box of tissues. You accepted it wordlessly, still reeling from the implications of this discovery. He started walking toward the bathroom and you followed him automatically. “don’t ya know how alphys does her shit?”

“...I was told she grows the organs from stem cells… through some combination of technology and magic.” Right. It seemed obvious now. If you could use magic to grow an organ, surely you could use magic to fix a bone.

“how fast d’ya think she grows those organs?” he asked.

You were both standing in the bathroom now, and Sans was looking at you with an air of expectation. What, did he wanna _watch_?

He seemed to realize that you were waiting for him to leave. “heh. right, sorry.” He backed out of the room, and as he shut the door you swore you could see him rolling his eyes.


	6. Phone a Friend

Sans was gone when you left the bathroom. That was ok. You had everything you needed now. Well except for pants, but no one else seemed to care about that as much as you did.

You went back to the couch—your base of operations—and plugged your phone into a wall outlet with your new charger. You sorted back through your list of goals in your head: find Dad, eat, shower, get an x-ray. While your phone booted up you went to the kitchen to see if you could find any more food. Sans's note from the night before _had_ said to help yourself to the pie.

It was sitting on the kitchen counter, uncovered. The whole pie looked even uglier than the single slice had, sort of shriveled and collapsed on itself inside the bent tin. But when you dug some utensils out of a drawer and cut yourself a slice, it tasted as good as you remembered; sweet and buttery and completely unsuitable as breakfast food. You couldn't believe this stuff had healed your broken bone in under twelve hours.

Why weren't they prescribing monster deserts to every person who went to the hospital with a broken bone? No one would ever need to wear a cast again.

Why did the skeletons have a toilet but no toilet paper?

Lying on the couch, covered in pie crumbs and someone else's blood, you called every hospital in a 20 mile radius of your apartment, with no luck. Your dad was nowhere to be found. You tried home but no one picked up. You called your aunt again but she didn't answer. Where the hell was everyone?

You called Paul. He was one of your dad's acquaintances (friend was probably too strong of a word), and the one who'd told you how to find Alphys. His wife was a monster, but you'd never seen her. She had special environmental requirements and had to be kept out of the sun.

To your surprise, he picked up on the second ring. He hadn't heard from your dad. Leaving out the gory details, you explained a little bit of your current situation, and about meeting Sans and Papyrus.

"What, you're in their _house_?" he asked, chuckling on the other end of the line. "Careful, girl. Those skeletons may or may not be connected to some very powerful people in the monster community."

"Am I in danger?" you asked in a low voice.

"Probably not," he conceded. "You have to understand somethin about monsters, they…" He paused, as if considering his words. "They ain't like us, y'know? Us humans. They won't hurt anyone unless they got a real good reason. I know it sounds cheesy, but… they gotta lot more kindness in em. But people don't wanna see that. Cause they're scared of em."

"Yeah…" you agreed. You had to admit, what he was saying sort of matched your own observations. Sans really had saved your life, and fixed your broken leg. They took care of you last night, and you were just a stranger. Only you were still looking for an ulterior motive because you were still feeling those bones jutting out of your body, still seeing how _dead_ Muscle Man was, hanging over you with blood drifting out of his brain.

_("They won't hurt anyone unless they got a real good reason.")_

But that was true of humans too, wasn't it?

_("You can cry. Just don't scream.")_

Wasn't it?

"Anyway," continued Paul, "I know those guys are supposed to be close to Alphys, so if they say they'll get you to 'er, they will. Just wish I'd known she was gonna be outta town, I woulda warned you."

"You've already done so much for us…" you said.

"Ah, c'mon, least I could do. You take care of yourself, alright kiddo? Hope your dad's ok."


End file.
